Time After Time
by TessaStarDean
Summary: A series of JJ/Hotch drabbles.
1. Hallelujah

She cradled his head in her lap, the faint light from the single bulb letting her see his face. Some of it was hidden in shadow, but she could see the cut along his forehead, the skin starting to turn black and purple. His breathing was steady, though, and she was fairly certain he was going to be okay.

Looking up, she took in the basement they were in, the chains locked on their ankles, and she wondered if it really mattered anyway.

But those thoughts didn't help either of them. So she pushed them away and focused on the man with her, her fingers running through his soft hair. She felt as though there were entire books that could be written on the things she didn't know about him, but she knew the important things. He was a good man. A good father. A leader. A righter of wrongs. The hero and all of those other ideals that made you feel safe whenever they were around. He was someone she would want her own son to look up to, to turn to for advice. Because he would always do what was right, even if it hurt like hell.

She admired and respected him more than any other man in her life.

He stirred slightly, unconsciously reaching for her hand, and she entwined their fingers.

"JJ?" he whispered.

She smiled, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on his temple. "I'm right here," she replied.

"He has us, doesn't he?"

"They'll find us, Hotch. You know they will."

He nodded slowly, wincing at the movement. Holding on to him with one hand, JJ let her other fingers continue to move through his hair. And because they were alone, and scared, she rocked him gently, breathing the song that she sang to her son every night, hoping that it would comfort them the way it did Henry. And Hotch relaxed against her, holding on with everything he had.

i baby i've been here before

i've seen this room and i've walked this floor

i used to live alone before i knew you

i've seen your flag on the marble arch

but love is not a victory march

it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.../i


	2. the scientist

It was a simple mistake. She had leaned in to kiss him on the cheek to wish him a merry Christmas. But he had moved, or she had aimed wrong, and now her lips were pressed against his softly.

It was a simple mistake, and so she should have been able to pull away quickly with muttered apologies. Instead, the room froze, the air almost solidifying as it seemed to hold her where she was. Her eyes fluttered shut and one hand came up to rest on his cheek.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she wondered how long this could go on. She kept waiting for him to pull back, to put the distance between them again - a distance she had felt so keenly in the last few weeks.

And he did pull away.

But only slightly.

And only to catch his breath.

Then his lips were pressed against hers even harder, his hands pulled her between his knees as he sat on the edge of his desk. Her own hands moved without a thought, one tangling in his collar, while the other ran up into his hair.

And when he squeezed her hips, she couldn't stop the gasp that left her body. But Hotch just used the opportunity to tilt his head and deepen the kiss, both of them moaning slightly when their tongues touched.

She almost expected things to speed up at that moment, but he kept them slow. He was thorough and gentle and everything she had let herself dare to dream in idle thoughts on lonely nights. Peppermint and coffee flooded her senses, and a hint of something else she couldn't put her finger on.

When he pulled away the second time, she automatically leaned her forehead against his, steadying her hands on his shoulders.

"Wow," she breathed.

Hotch chuckled, something he didn't do often enough in her book. "Would you mind if, maybe...we took this...elsewhere?" He reached up to tuck a blonde lock behind her ear. "I would really like to have dinner with you tonight."

"I have to get Henry," she reminded him.

He just smiled. "I was talking about the four of us."

She bit her bottom lip, something she hadn't done since college. "I'd really like that."

He nodded. "Good. Because two more minutes of that, and I might have exploded."

JJ couldn't help but laugh. "And you don't like explosions?"

"I'm not particularly fond of ones that happen in public forums."

"Then we should definitely get you somewhere more private."

Hotch just smiled and followed her out of the office.


	3. kissing you

***A/N: Written to Des'ree's "Kissing You" from Romeo and Juliet***

Morgan had given her the room key. There hadn't been much warning or explanation. Just the cool card pressed against her palm and a whispered "He needs you."

It was enough for her.

As she stood in front of the door, she wondered briefly if she should knock, but then shook her head. That was why Morgan had given her the key. They both knew that he would shut down, refuse to let her – or anybody else – in, for fear that they might actually see him as he was.

He would rather shatter alone in a dark room, rather than have someone cut themselves on the pieces.

The light turned green on the first swipe, and she opened the door slowly, surprised when she saw that one of the lamps was on. Hotch sat on the edge of one of the beds, shirt half unbuttoned and his shoulders sagging. The door clicked shut behind her, and he heard it, his head raising and his eyes searching her out.

"JJ?" He sat up a little straighter. "What is it?"

His expression was all business, but she had seen it just before he'd become aware of her presence. She had seen the lines and cracks in his heart, the weariness and brokenness in his eyes. And now she was fighting back tears and unable to speak for fear that she would simply start crying.

Instead, she shook her head and crossed the room, slipping off her shoes along the way. The carpet was soft against her stocking feet, and she felt a small spark of static electricity shock her. Never taking her eyes off of his, she moved until she was standing between his knees, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"JJ?" he whispered.

Her hands slid up to cup his face, and she leaned down, kissing him slowly. His jaw tensed beneath her fingers, but she didn't pull back, her hair falling around them, curtaining them off from the world. His own hands came up to sit on her hips, and for a moment, she thought he was going to push her away.

But then his fingers tightened convulsively in the fabric of her skirt and he was kissing her back. Their mouths moved together as though they'd done this a hundred times before – maybe a thousand – but the newness of it stole their breath, making the room swirl and tilt dangerously. His grip tightened again, and then he was lifting her up so that her knees could settle on either side of him. The remaining buttons on his shirt were slid from their holes and then the garment was pushed off of his shoulders and they were falling backwards, the world rushing by them.

And even when the bed broke their fall, it still felt as though they were slipping.


	4. sexy back

He was still getting used to the fact that JJ was staying with him. It had seemed natural for her and Henry to take the spare room, especially when Jack adored them both so much. But his space had been quiet and lonely for a long time, and sometimes just her presence was enough to throw him for a loop.

It was especially disconcerting when he opened the front door and heard music playing – music that he would never be caught dead listening to. Slipping off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of the recliner, he leaned over the crib to see Henry sleeping peacefully.

The music was coming from the kitchen, and he headed in that direction. But he stopped in the doorway, eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening. JJ stood at the oven, stirring something that smelled delicious, and her hips…

Oh God, her hips.

Hotch shook his head suddenly, dragging his eyes away. She was a coworker, and a friend, and he had no right to look at her like that. His gaze landed on his son instead, who was perched on the counter, bobbing his head in time to the music as he danced next to her. He shared a glance with JJ every now and then, and the two of them would grin at each other, and Jack would even mouth a couple words here and there. Hotch couldn't help but smile.

…and then his eyes slid back to JJ and the air rushed out of his lungs.

"Daddy!"

The sound of his son's voice jolted him, and JJ turned around, jumping and covering her mouth in surprise. They stared at each other for a minute, and Hotch was fairly certain that his face was just as crimson as hers.

"We're making dinner," Jack said matter-of-factly, oblivious to the tension in the room.

"It'll be ready soon," JJ said, her voice slightly breathless and her gaze not quite meeting his.

Hotch nodded, turning to leave the room. Before he got two steps though, he backtracked and leaned into the kitchen.

"JJ?"

She turned around quickly, eyes wide again. "Yeah?"

He smirked. "Nice moves."


	5. ashes and wine

She could feel him slipping. Away from the team. From himself. Whatever had been holding him to them before was tearing, and if something didn't happen soon, they were going to lose him altogether.

It wasn't just the look in his eyes, or his unconvincing proclamations that he was fine. Even in the job he prided himself in, there were fissures appearing. And as they talked to a woman they believed was friends with the pedophile and murderer, his questioning turned erratic. Anyone who didn't know him would be oblivious to the change, but JJ had to force herself to remain stoic even as she wanted to look at him sharply. There was an edge to his voice, a slight panic that she had never heard before.

And then he had left. His excuse had appeased the woman, but as JJ gave a more extended goodbye, she couldn't help but think that he had practically ran out of the house.

Her eyes were searching as soon as she was out the door, and it didn't take her long to find him. Crossing the street, she moved into the park, empty with the bitter wind that hinted of winter blowing through. Hotch sat on one of the swings, moving slightly, hands gripping the chains so hard that his knuckles were white.

"Want a push?" she asked.

The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "I think I'm a little heavy for you." As she walked behind him, he turned his head slightly. "I'm not doing so well, am I?" he asked, his voice almost lost in the wind.

On an impulse, she raised her hand and pressed her palm to his cheek. To her surprise, his eyes fluttered shut, and she let her hand continue moving, fingers brushing through his hair once before she took a seat on the swing next to him.

"You'd do better if you let us help you."

He nodded. "I'm not so good at that."

JJ shrugged. "Takes practice." She turned to look at him. "And trust."

His gaze didn't waver. "The latter has never been an issue here, JJ." He shook his head. "But the former…"

She gave him a small smile. "We can help with that, too."

He took a deep breath. "We have an UNSUB to catch first."

Standing up, JJ offered him her hand. "Let's get to it, then."


	6. it's not a cry that you hear at night

***A/N: Written while listening to Justin Timberlake and Charlie Sexton sing "Hallelujah." **

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he was running out of time with her. That there was a window of opportunity for them, and that if he didn't make his feelings known to her soon, that window would close, and he'd never be able to even find it again, nevermind open it. Because she was beautiful, and she was amazing, and she deserved so much more than to wait around for a man so emotionally unavailable that he couldn't even ask her to dinner.

But as she stood at the bar, laughing and talking with Morgan and Prentiss, he suddenly felt it. A low blow in the depths of his gut, twisting painfully as he saw the shell of a man he would become if he didn't stand up and take a damn step forward.

And that step almost killed him, an invisible wall trying to push him back to where he knew he was safe. One step, and then another, though, and he was moving forward, closer to her, closer to the only thing in his life that could keep him from slipping away entirely.

He didn't say a word, afraid that his voice would betray him. Instead, he gently tangled her fingers with his own and led her away from the others and toward the small section of floor that served as a place to dance. Turning, he pulled her closer, leaving their hands down at their sides as the other came up to rest on her hip.

They moved slowly, bodies pressed together softly. He moved until his face was next to hers, cheeks touching and his lips at her ear. He felt her move closer and his eyes slid shut as his lips began moving of their own accord. His voice was low as he breathed the song playing around them, and her breath hitched at the sound. Her fingers tightened around his and her head bowed forward, resting against his shoulder. The hand resting on his arm balled into a fist, taking the shirt with it.

His lips moved against the skin between her ear and her cheek, thankful that his feet remembered the motions as he let himself be completely dragged under. It was then that he realized she was shaking slightly. Untangling their fingers, he brought that hand to her face, fingertips ghosting over her lips and chin. She instinctively moved into his touch, and his eyes finally opened to find her looking up at him.

He watched her watch him as he kissed her once, twice, and then a third time. And then her hands twisted in his shirt again and she held him there, letting him lead as they moved more deeply as one.

When he pulled away – slowly, reluctantly – he knew that he had only made it by the skin of his teeth.


	7. long hard road

***A/N: Written to Sade's "Long Hard Road."***

It was late. An hour that even he didn't normally see at the office when they weren't working an active case. But the paperwork had been piling up on his desk for far too long, and with Jack staying with Jessie, he had little desire to rush out to an empty home. Sleep was always just out of reach, and without the distraction and relief that his son provided him with, Hotch knew that home would be a torture greater than red tape.

Glancing at his watch, he forced himself to his feet. Even if he planned on staying there all night, he needed to get up and move before his muscles cramped. He walked out of the office, wondering if another cup of coffee was a good idea, or if the added caffeine would just give him the jitters. His body froze, though, one foot poised over the stairs down to the bullpen, when he saw a light under a familiar door. Frowning, he changed direction smoothly and headed toward the unexpected evidence of someone else there that late.

He knocked gently, but there was no answer, and he pushed the door open slowly. The lamp on the desk was on, pushing the shadows only far enough back to keep them on the other side of the room. Hotch peered into the dark corners as he moved farther inside, but he couldn't pick anyone out.

Until he heard the soft movement of air to his left.

Turning, he saw JJ sitting on the floor behind her desk, knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes weren't red, but they were tired, and from the puffiness of the skin beneath them, he could surmise that she had shed more than a few tears that night. She looked up at him, making no move to explain her presence or get up. She just met his eyes, not bothering to put her walls back up.

Hotch recognized that look, that resignation. He didn't need to know what had happened, though that didn't stop his mind from registering the chain around her neck that he'd only seen her wear once, or the lack of a ring on her right hand. JJ didn't need someone to profile her, or for someone to walk in with the answers. She needed someone who understood - a need he knew so well, one that dug at him day after day.

And he suddenly realized that they had more in common than he'd ever known.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he moved closer, until he was standing beside her. Then he rested his back against the wall behind him and let himself slide to the floor, his arm and thigh touching hers. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she was wound tightly like a spring. He also knew how that could make a person ache if they held it long enough, the physical pain a reminder of the shambles that had become their life. If he had learned the secret to letting it all go, he would have gladly shared it with her in a heartbeat, sparing her the frustration of learning through experience.

But he had nothing to share.

Except for the one thing he suddenly realized he had gone without for far too long. Sitting next to her, the need hit him deep in his gut, and he almost gasped at the pain that drove through his bones, the dry ache that just continuously drained him. He didn't let his mind dissect it - he just let his hand fall to the floor and seek out her own.

She flinched, and he wondered how long it had been since she'd been touched, and that thought saddened him more than he could comprehend. Slowly, though, she relaxed, and let him entwine their fingers, both clinging painfully to the contact.

Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair, and she let out a long sigh, leaving him to wonder if she had breathed even once since that first breath he had heard. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

And they breathed.


	8. 14 days

***A/N* Written for the JJ/Hotch Angst March Madness. Also written to Arkitekt's "14 Days." **

She found him sitting in the middle of his office, cross-legged, on the floor. It was the last place she expected him to be. Suit jacket missing, tie loosened, hair mussed from fingers running through it countless times...he sat there with slumped shoulders, surrounded by a whirlwind of papers and folders scattered across the room.

Fourteen days.

That's how long they had been on the case. How long they had been in the dark. Victim after victim floating in the river, too many family notifications, too many angry mothers demanding to know why their son or daughter had to die. Why the FBI couldn't catch this son of a bitch and put an end to the nightmare.

It was taking a toll on them all.

Shaky, short-tempered, they were coming apart at the seams. Angry words flew between them, sharp enough to open veins. And they were bleeding. But they didn't have time to tend to each other's wounds...not until they could put a tourniquet on the city they all loved.

They could keep going as long as they had to, as long as Hotch was there to lead them. She knew that. They all knew that. His stoic face, his calm in the face of the tidal wave crashing down...he gave them a line to walk when they might otherwise plummet over a cliff with no foreseeable bottom.

But as strong as he was, JJ knew that that meant he wouldn't break.

He would shatter.

As though he heard her thoughts, Hotch was suddenly on his feet, his face no longer a screen of calm and logic. Eyes blazing, he threw himself at the nearest wall, fists lashing out in a rage that had been bottled for untold years.

She moved into the room quickly, shutting the door behind her - it wouldn't help the rest of the team to see him like this, and she knew that he wouldn't want that. Stepping over the papers and folders, she went to him, her hands reaching for him without a thought, resting on his lower back.

"Hotch."

But he just kept punching. Blood was starting to stain the wall where his knuckles had split open, and she was afraid that he was going to break his hand.

"Hotch -"

Without thinking about it, she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades.

"Aaron, please -"

Her voice broke, and so did his anger.

For a minute, they both just breathed, both worn out. Hotch's head hung down as he pressed his palms against the wall, his body heaving raggedly. Slowly, his right hand reached down and behind, finding hers. JJ watched as he entwined their fingers and then brought both of their hands up until they rested over his heart. She counted the beats, reassuring herself that he was there.

And then closing her eyes, she faced the tidal wave with him.


	9. i thought we'd know how

***A/N* Written to Katie Trotta's "Drive." I seem to have a thing for angsty emotional no-dialogue scenes. Hope that's okay with you guys***

He had never been good with words, and she knew that. She didn't expect romantic speeches or heart-rending confessions of love. It wasn't his style. It wasn't him. And it was him that she loved.

Every bruise. Every worry line.

Him.

She didn't need his words. But she needed him, despite the fact that he didn't know how to be there. Blood and bullets, secrets out in the open...the case in Indiana had spilled it all, leaving them scattered across the floor.

For a long time, she had just sat on the edge of the bed as he stood at the window, staring out across the snow. He wanted to go to her, to hold her against him and let her know that everything was going to be alright.

But he was frozen.

It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. And it had cost him so much in the past.

The Unit Chief inside him was worried that their secret was out, that the team knew about their relationship and the depth of their feelings for each other. On some level, he realized that they had probably known for a long time, but there was no denying it anymore. And the more people who knew, the more likely it was to spread...and though he didn't even want to think about what Strauss would do with the information, his mind had already mapped out a million different scenarios.

None of them were good.

A sound reached his ears, and he turned sharply, frowning when he saw that JJ was no longer sitting on the bed. His heartbeat slowed as he realized that he was hearing the water running in the bathroom. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, his own worries, that he hadn't even heard her get up.

Staring at the bathroom door, he remembered the way her face had looked in the car as they drove back. He thought she had been tired, exhausted from the case and everything that had stemmed from it. But now he saw that it was more than that. What he had taken as weariness was resignation. Fear. His eyes widened.

She thought it was over.

As Unit Chief, it should have been. It should have never begun. But being Unit Chief had cost him everything once, and that was a price he couldn't afford to pay twice.

He didn't need to be Hotch.

He needed to be Aaron.

Leaving the window, he went to the bathroom, pushing the door open gently. Without a word, he stripped off his clothes, letting them lie beside hers on the floor. And when he pulled the curtain aside, his breath caught somewhere deep in his chest.

JJ leaned forward, hands pressed against the cold tile. Shoulders shaking, she cried silently, tears and droplets of water sliding down her face.

He stepped in behind her, hesitating slightly before sliding his hands down her bare back. He was worried that she would pull away from him, but her body shuddered at his touch, and a pained cry escaped her lips. His hands slid around her stomach and pulled her back against him as he kissed her shoulder.

"I love you," he murmured, praying that she wouldn't second-guess him. That she knew him well enough to hear everything that lay behind those words.

She turned in his arms and clung to him, letting him hold her up under the steady torrent of water and emotions.

"Always," she whispered.


	10. you calm the storm

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

"Of course." Hotch stepped aside, letting her into the hotel room. "Is everything alright?"

JJ turned to look at him, taking in his appearance. The suit jacket had been shed, and the tie loosened - and yet, he seemed less at ease, more tense. It only confirmed her suspicions.

"I wanted to talk to you," she replied in answer. "About going undercover."

He frowned. "Are you having second thoughts?"

She shook her head. "I'm worried about you."

The frown deepened, and the tension in his shoulders tightened. "Why?"

"We have to look like a couple, Hotch. Like two people in love, completely comfortable with each other. If we don't..." She shrugged, letting the thought linger.

Not answering right away, he moved to the bed, sitting on the end of it. When he finally did speak, his voice was quiet and unsure. "And you think...you're worried that I can't pretend those things?"

"Have you been with anyone since Haley?"

Her question was blunt, and painful, and she meant it to be. A young couple's life was on the line, and their own lives were going to be in danger. She needed to know where his head was.

And he reacted just like she thought he would. His shoulders became stone and his jaw locked...but his eyes didn't meet hers.

"That is none of your -"

"When was the last time someone even touched you?" she pressed.

The indignation died on his lips, and JJ felt her throat go raw at the pain flashing across his face. She stepped forward, moving until she was between his knees. He flinched slightly, and her expression softened.

"That's what we have to avoid, Hotch," she said quietly.

"I know," he whispered.

JJ reached out, her right hand resting against his cheek. A sharp intake of breath rushed through him, but he didn't pull away. Thumb stroking over his skin, she watched the muscles in his face move, watched his breathing even out as he grew used to the contact. It made her want to cry, the fact that this man went day after day without anyone touching him, reassuring him, loving him.

But she couldn't tell him any of that.

Slowly, her other hand came up as well, and she cradled his face. She let her fingers wander closer to his hair, her nails lightly scratching the scalp. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips across his forehead, hearing his breath catch. Her mouth didn't lose contact with his skin as she moved across his brow, just laying kisses across it. His eyes fluttered shut and she kissed the lids, fighting her own butterflies down when his hands caught her elbows.

Tilting his head up more, she moved down the side of his face, her hair ghosting across his skin. When she reached the line of his jaw, JJ realized that her own control was slipping, and she couldn't stop herself from nipping at him lightly. It was unexpected, and he gasped, his hands instinctively reaching for her waist and pulling her closer.

Lost in the sensations, JJ ran her tongue across his skin to soothe it and then moved on, nipping and licking down his jaw line as she moved closer to his mouth.

His lips were already parted when she reached them, but she still tugged gently at the lower one before sliding her tongue against his. Hotch moaned loudly, his skin on fire. He pulled her closer, hands tightening convulsively on her hips, completely lost in the feel of her.

The banging on his door startled them both and they pulled apart, hands still clutching at the other.

"Hotch?" Dave's voice came through the door. "You ready?"

He looked up at her for the first time. "Are we?"

JJ smiled, running her fingers across his brow. "I think we'll be just fine," she whispered.


End file.
